P.O.S. — Half Cocked Concepts
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Текст P.O.S. — Half Cocked Concepts
I got the two best, the newest plus the truest;
Doomtree, Rhymesayers Entertainment (You know the name!)
Rip the quality control, from your burrows to your borders
Droppin’ hot emcee’s off balconies like Tony Rocky Horror
The, uh, the baby-danglin’, words hanglin’
Hottest masturbatin’ off the back of the neck of my soldiers’ rhyme and
P.O., you know the dirty one disturbing categories
The matador in black, killin’ bullshit allegories
Provide the hurt, these other beastly storing stories make em’
Get Up
Get Down
Get Up
And Get Fucked Up
I spray terms like throw-ups,
I’m ’bout to spit a feelin’
Cuz me and Turbo Nemesis are soon to be arthritic villains
Still instillin’ hatred,
Laced with manifesto modes
And our back beat’s to beat your heart beat off beat
Let’s go
Excuse me
Just turn it on, and leave it runnin’
Macin’, nothin’ of gunnin’
Nothin’ linin’ our pockets
We frontin’ like Cool Runnings
Somethin’ so simple sparkin’
We wait, but nothin’s comin’
Chrome in our fingertips, they eat shit, like faulty plumbin’
Just games for days, busy bees makin’ our honey
And skee ball tickets still on count, it’s real money
It’s somethin’ so ridiculous,
Funny, so fuckin’ sick of this,
Consistent lack of vision from children claimin’ they listenin’
Still I’m sittin’ skits and laughin’ while they all missin’ this
There’s still songs about bitches, from 9/11 witnesses. (ha ha)
So here I am in the Middle West
The heart land ma’ fucka
Sippin’ whole milk ma’ fucka
Our nights are colder right?
Minnesota nights, but our frost-bitten fists
For the smile stings twice so um,
Fight or Flight
Who gives a damn anyways?
So make a fuckin’ difference in these apathetic names
(I tell ’em)
Lean back, just relax, we tell ’em
Get Up
Get Down
Get Up
And Get Fucked Up
We don’t dance, we just pull up our pants, and then we,
Get Up
Get Down
Get Up
And Get Fucked Up
(What, you want something like a cake? Want a Guinness or somethin’?)
Get Up
Get Down
Get Up
And Get Fucked Up
Somethin’ so ridiculous,
Funny, so fuckin’ sick of this,
Consistent lack of vision from children claimin’ they listenin’
You look sick, homie eat a gun (I tell you (haha))
I’ma eat a gun
I look tired
It’s probably the insomnia
I sleep like Tyler Durdan
STICKIN’ FEATHERS IN YOUR ASS DOES NOT MAKE YOU A CHICKEN!
Holla if you hit the bottom runnin’
A fool among the scholars
Bumpin’ somethin’ about clubs, bubs, and hubs
I got a message in a bottle
Written in gas and oil
Signed with a rag and a match
Here Catch!
Slap to rebel yell
The rebels fell, embedded in brick
Ain’t no fuckin’ marble memorial
For pissed-off kids waitin’ for desperate shicks
Like Bronson, ain’t got enough to flip his face to vigilance again
Once it has been, the fifth amends
Barely our friends, who think about what’s up with Jen & Ben
Once it has been (I think we should put up in this-Fuck outta here!)
Let’s get out
Lean back and relax, we tell ’em
Get Up
Get Down
Get Up
And Get Fucked Up
Put the ma’ fuckin’ Fresca down
Get Up
Get Down
Get Up
And Get Fucked Up
(Damnit with the blood!)
Get Up
Get Down
Get Up
And Get Fucked Up
Somethin’ so ridiculous,
Funny, so fuckin’ sick of this,
Consistent lack of vision from children claimin’ they listenin’
